


Three Men And A Baby

by Noxnoctisanima



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-18
Updated: 2010-09-18
Packaged: 2017-10-11 23:12:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/118213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Noxnoctisanima/pseuds/Noxnoctisanima
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lestrade had always wanted children.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three Men And A Baby

Lestrade had always wanted children, from when he was a child himself, he could always be relied upon to be dragged into the girl's games of 'house'. At the time the getting of children was somewhat of an abstract concept, something that would just 'happen' when he was old enough, which eventually bled into a removed sense of disgust when the act of sex was described to him at ten. Perfectly normal, at that age girls were still the odd screeching creatures in the playground.

The problem was that the disgust never really went away. For a while he had though it was just girls and had considered himself gay, but there was the same lingering disgust and disinterest. He had, had sex of course, teenagers were so cruel when someone was different, but it was messy and sweaty and he'd pulled a muscle in his thigh. He'd never done it again.

No one would ever give a child to a single man, a single man who was a police officer at that and he could think of no woman who would marry him either, and would not expect him to touch her. He had come to the realisation many years ago that no matter his desire, he would never be a father.

 

Sherlock had doubted himself and his skills for a moment the first time he saw Lestrade with a child. He had deducted (within 1.4 second of meeting the Inspector) that he had no children, but until he saw the longing in the way Lestrade looked at the child(9 years old, assaulted but not sexually, broken right arm six months ago) he had doubted. He did hate doing that.

It was a familiar longing, he had used it twice to diagnose barrenness in women, though this was the first time in a man. It was also usual in women over thirty, those desperate for a man, desperate for a husband, desperate for a child. He was tempted to place Lestrade in the second category, lacking evidence he made an educated guess, impotent men were somewhat more overtly and overcompensatingly masculine than Lestrade. The question remaining was why Lestrade did not presently have a child. He was, by modern standards an attractive man, with an admittedly overwhelming job, but there were always women who were drawn to the hero. He also, puzzlingly, did not seem to be actively perusing a mate, the usual procedure in this case.

Sherlock was officially intrigued.

 

Being the object of Sherlock Holmes' interest was disconcerting, especially because Lestrade had long since considered himself to have become part of Holmes' mental wallpaper and could not think of anything he had done to arouse it again.

"So what did you do?" Lestrade jerked his eyes up from where Sherlock was sniffing the corpse's fingers, John was to silent for his own (or Lestrade's) good sometimes.

"What?" He was starting to get the same creepy feeling from John he got with Sherlock.

John smiled crookedly.

"I'm not as good at it as he is, but I've lived with him almost two years now and I know his 'fascinated' face. You must be particularly stubborn, I don't think I've ever seen it last this long."

Lestrade screwed up his face.

"I have no idea."

John laughed softly, and then again when Sherlock sent him a searching look.

"Well we'll find out eventually."

 

Lestrade had an incredible sinking feeling when he walked into his office and saw pamphlets for adoption on his desk and a flash of black coat in his window. It settled there when the next time he saw Sherlock he was wearing his 'triumphant' face.

Lestrade wasn't exactly ashamed of his asexuality (he'd finally given it a name when he was 25) but it, and his longing for children were not something he wanted discussed in the middle of the crime scene with half of the Yard present.

He'd steeled himself for it before the next case exciting enough to attract Sherlock's attention (and vexing enough to force his hand). But nothing happened, Sherlock was his normal dismissive self, rude and brilliant, but he made no mention of what he knew, what John knew as well Lestrade suspected, from the way the shorter man watched him.

He made no mention, but the searching, speculative gaze was still there, in John's as well as Sherlock's eyes.

There would have been a time where John's seeming involvement in whatever it was that Sherlock was planning would have been a comfort, but that time was more than a year past, that golden age when John was polite and deferential and actually used his influence over Sherlock to curb some of his more disruptive impulses. But the longer he had spent with Sherlock, the more his ability to say no (or even see anything wrong with his plans) disappeared, which is why Lestrade was so worried at the level of interest the pair were showing in him.

In hindsight it should have been a clue when Sherlock broke into his house again (he'd done it more than once, Lestrade had never caught him but he seemed to find it beneath his notice to hide his presence), but he'd though no more of it than Sherlock's normal eccentricities.

He should also have known John, as informed as he assumed he was about Lestrade's position, would not have been tactless enough to start a conversation about children and Lestrade's views towards childrearing.

But what really should have warned him was the way his house seemed to be getting sneakily safer. The protruding nails he was forever catching his socks on in the dining room vanished, he suddenly found himself with a full set of power point protectors, the cracked tile in the bathroom was replaced. He couldn't understand why Sherlock was fixing his house, but if he wanted to turn his attention towards home improvements, Lestrade figured it was keeping him out of other things.

Which is probably why they caught him with such a shock.

They were standing on his front step when he opened the door. Sherlock was weighed down with half a dozen bags, something Lestrade had never really seen before, he seemed to always need his hands free to poke at things or hit someone or steal something. He noticed this in a split second though because then his attention was fairly effectively stolen by the sniffle from John's arms.

The cloth bundle John was holding carefully against his chest shifted and the covering fell back to reveal a shock of black hair. It was a child, no more than three months old, he was reaching for it before he even realised what he was doing, then pulled back quickly. John shook his head and held out the child.

"No, take him." John's voice was soft as he settled the baby into Lestrade's arms.

He was focused on the child for a long moment, the sleepy sweep of his eyelashes, the softness of his skin before his suspicious mind snapped back in and his gaze shot up at the men on his doorstep.

"Where did you two get a baby?"

Sherlock pushed past him into the house, dropping his bags in the lounge and sitting down in a chair. John shrugged and followed, leaving Lestrade with not much choice other than to shut the door and follow them.

"My brother." Lestrade started when Sherlock spoke after a long moment of silence.

"I beg your pardon?" Lestrade could not be expected to be at his best on a Sunday morning with a surprise child in his lap.

"The child, we acquired it from my brother, Mycroft, I'm sure you remember him." Yes, Lestrade most certainly remembered Mycroft, he'd been picked up, very civilly, in a town car after his first case with Sherlock and then threatened, much less civilly, with what would happen if harm was ever to come to him by the man's frighteningly normal appearing brother.

Sherlock interrupted him when he opened his mouth to ask the obvious question.

"Yes, legally. You really do have no faith in my character," Something in his face must have shown his agreement with that statement and Sherlock laughed dryly. "Well, yes, Mycroft has on occasion had to perform the duties of a social worker with children orphaned from families with a let us say, delicate, legal or secrecy status. It is necessary to contract guardians with appropriate security clearance so that awkward requests for information are not made when the child reaches adulthood. I merely placed your name on the list."

Lestrade stared at him for a moment, and then at the child.

"He's mine?" There was disbelief in his voice.

"Yes, yes, I just said that didn't I?" Sherlock waved his hand dismissively. "And I realise that having a child placed in your care can be a financial drain but the Government has provided an allowance for such matters which I have been assured you will find most generous." He leaned back for a moment before interrupting Lestrade who was about to speak. "And yes, I realise how time consuming your job can be, John has already volunteered to co-supervise your child when necessary, I assume you can find a third guardian for when you both might be needed at a crime scene?"

Lestrade glanced over at John to see him watching the child with an almost identical level of devotion to that of his own, John glanced up and their eyes met, he smiled.

"We thought it simpler for him if he kept his first name, he's old enough to recognise it. Inspector, I'd like you to meet your son, Issac."

Lestrade shifted the tiny body in his arms to that he could look directly down into the baby's face.

"Hello Issac."


End file.
